


The Proposal

by Langus



Category: Sense and Sensibility (1995)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, proposal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-19
Updated: 2020-12-19
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:15:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,189
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28161537
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Langus/pseuds/Langus
Summary: A fluffy follow-up to "Unrequited" from the perspective of Marianne Dashwood. Thank you to all who offered comments and kudos on "Unrequited" - it was much appreciate and inspired me to write this piece. Happy reading and I do hope you enjoy it!
Relationships: Colonel Brandon/Marianne Dashwood
Comments: 2
Kudos: 39





	The Proposal

It embarrassed her at times to recall how she used to think of the Colonel. When Colonel Brandon had first arrived on scene, friend and neighbour to the insufferable Sir John Middleton and Mrs. Jennings, she had paid him little mind. She’d thought him dull, passionless, and bothersome. He was always lurking nearby, offering her assistance when none was required, waiting on her in the hopes of receiving her attention or approval like some loyal dog.

She could recall remarking to Elinor that it was remarkable a man who had spent so many years in the East Indies would have so very little of interest to say about them. Where was his passion? Where was his sense of adventure and curiosity?

Elinor had remarked, rather dryly, that perhaps he’d left them in the East Indies.

She’d been too young and naïve at the time to see him for what he was. Her mind was overfilled with fanciful notions of young love, spurred on by the attentions of Sir John Willoughby. The dashing young gentleman had saved her, plucked her up out of obscurity, and made her feel important, adored, and beautiful. He’d offered her the promise of escape from her boring country life filled with the same bothersome neighbours, all seated at the same dinner tables, having the same boring conversations week after week. And then he’d broken her heart, discarded her as if she’d meant nothing to him, and sought out more plentiful pastures with Miss Grey and her £50,000.

In that moment when she’d felt small and unworthy, forgotten and tarnished, he’d been there. Colonel Brandon – calm, patient, without judgement, and offering untethered support from behind the scenes. She discovered later that during his stay in London he’d spoken well of her to anyone in Society he’d happened to cross paths with, doing what little he could to restore her reputation after Willoughby had left it so thoroughly and publicly muddied.

And in return she’d treated the Colonel coldly, rudely even. But it was only because she had not yet learned that passion is not the same as love. They are easy to confuse, to be sure, but through her interactions with both men she’d learned the difference. The roaring flame of passion and infatuation burns bright but dies quickly, such as her love of Willoughby. What the Colonel offered was something different altogether, and so foreign she’d rejected it at first without a second thought.

Colonel Brandon offered the promise of stability, patience, and trust. She would never have cause to doubt the depth of his adoration, or love. He was wholly devoted to her happiness and had been since the moment they met. Even when he believed her happiness would be found with another, he’d supported her and wished her well.

It shocked her the first time Elinor told her of a certain conversation she had had with the Colonel, one where he had wished her every happiness with Willoughby even whilst knowing of his past transgressions. He kept his peace even when it would have been to his advantage to drop some spurious accusation because he was a gentleman, but more importantly so that scandal would not follow her and destroy her happiness.

It was a wholly selfless act and when she heard of it for the first time it had left her numb. She'd sat at the piano staring out the window for hours afterwards, dwelling on how horribly she'd treated him. How cold and dismissive she'd been to him in London, scarcely able to tolerate being in the same room with him. And yet he'd been nothing but kind, seeking to protect her interests even when she could scarcely tolerate his presence.

What could have possibly encouraged him to return after such treatment? Why hadn’t he done as Willoughby had and simply cast her away? She reasoned he would have been well within his rights to, and she would not have blamed him for a moment. Instead, he visited two days after her return to Barton Cottage asking if he might read to her. And when her strength had returned, to join her on long walks. And when she was feeling fully well, to teach her how to fish along the river (an activity which she enjoyed far more than she had let on at the time). Those memories were fond for her now, something that was sure to bring a smile to her face, but then? At that time her heart had been full of pain and suspicion, still closed off and guarded following Willoughby’s cruel betrayal. She could not see his actions for what they were, only what the motive behind them might be.

But Colonel Brandon was a man offering her friendship when no one else would, and his quiet persistence eventually won out.

It happened gradually, one day and one visit at a time, until one day while sitting idly at the piano bench staring at the road she realized she was waiting for his horse to come trotting up the lane. She began to miss his company too, especially when he was away in London for days at a time attending to business. She found herself bookmarking passages to read with him on his next visit or practicing new pieces on the piano she thought he might enjoy. She even took to learning a duet (her first!) in the hopes that in future when the opportunity arose to play one, she might play it with him.

They passed nearly half a year like this, slowly growing closer, until one day while he read the latest of Wordsworth, “I wandered lonely as a cloud” she heard with her heart what he had been telling her all these months.

He finished the poem with a faint smile and gently closed the volume’s cover. The weight of her revelation made it difficult to speak, to breathe. Her heart was racing so quickly she was certain he could hear it. They shared a glance, a contented smile on his lips which she tried to mimic, and then he rose to his feet.

“I shouldn’t keep you,” he said with a note of apology, “but perhaps I could return tomorrow?”

He always left it up to her to decide whether she saw him again. It was in that very moment that she'd realized she never wanted to part from him again. The thought that he would someday leave and that would be the last time they ever crossed paths filled her with dread. She could not bear the thought of him having these moments with someone else, sharing that quiet, controlled passion for life he kept so well hidden from the world with another. It was enough to make her feel gripped with panic.

Catching sight of the expression on her face his smile quickly faded into a look of concern, “What is it? Are you feeling unwell?”

His hand settled on her arm, a reassuring touch that offered support without asking anything more. He took no liberties with her, which was how she knew with every fibre of her being that despite being in love with her the Colonel would never seek to tell her unless he had reason to believe she felt the same. She had spent the last half year following the rules of propriety, keeping quiet, not straying far from home, but her heart was healed now, and it yearned for more.

Her gloved hand found his and gripped it lightly. His eyes momentarily cast downwards in a look of surprise and then his fingers enclosed around hers. She could feel the warmth of his hand even through the material of her glove and it made her smile.

“I am feeling quiet well,” she assured him when her voice had returned. “Thank you for today, Colonel. I hope we can meet again tomorrow?”

He smiled, an expression that had once been all too rare on him but was more common now with each day they spent together.

“But of course,” he replied and before he could let go of her hand or move away or say a single word that would kill her courage she leaned into his space and pressed a soft kiss against the smooth skin of his cheek.

It was the first time she’d dared do anything so bold with the Colonel. She held her breath as she pulled away, half expecting censure of some kind from a man who held himself to the most rigid standards of propriety. Instead, his fingers brushed just below her chin, tipping her head upwards until his lips settled over hers in a kiss that was warm and soft and far more inviting than she ever could have imagined. His touch stole her breath away and left her cheeks burning red, awakening a part of her she had long since thought Willoughby’s callousness killed dead.

She craved more but he pulled back with a soft apology, “Forgive me.”

She discretely licked the taste of him from her lips and gripped his hand tighter so he would not retreat. He simply couldn’t! Not when they were so close to a breakthrough!

“On one condition,” she replied, and his eyes settled on hers. The look in them was clear – he’d already steeled himself for rejection.

But his kiss had emboldened her, and her next words came rushing out, “If you feel no more than friendship for me, then we can strike hands here and part as friends. But if you feel something more, kiss me again and promise I’ll never have to spend another day without you by my side.”

His brows rose in surprise and he brought her gloved hand to his lips, offering a light kiss across her knuckles to buy himself time to consider her offer.

“The days I have spent with you these past months have been some of the happiest in my life,” he confessed, and his eyes lingered on Barton Cottage a moment before settling on her. “You need never fear losing me as a friend, Miss Marianne. I will always be here should you need me.”

“Is that your answer then?” she blurted out aghast. “You can offer friendship but nothing more?”

He smiled in amusement before replying, “My heart has been yours from the beginning. It has loved you from the moment I came upon the Jennings’ parlor and watched you sing at their piano forte. I understand the depths of your feelings may not be the same, and I accepted that some time ago. Rest assured, Miss Marianne, wherever your heart takes you I will remain a friend.”

Frustrated, she’d pulled her hand from his. “You confuse me greatly, Sir. You saved me from certain death, visited me for weeks while I healed, developed a friendship with me, and did everything in your power to make me fall madly in love with you, and now you are reluctant to accept we could ever be more than friends?”

“Forgive me. I did not realize your feelings towards me had changed.”

“How could you not when it was so clearly stated in every long goodbye, every lingering glance and flushed cheek?” she challenged.

“It would appear my powers of observation are under-developed,” he answered with a quirk of his brow. “I wonder if perhaps you could pass my satchel there next to you?”

She blinked in confusion, scarcely able to process his request. She grabbed up the leather satchel in a huff and held it out to him before abruptly taking a seat atop the bench they had only just moments before been seated on.

The Colonel took the satchel from her and slung it over his shoulder before lifting the flap and tucking the book of Wordsworth’s poetry inside. When his hand emerged it held a small box, and then he was on one knee next to her.

She was scarcely able to control her emotions when he asked in no uncertain terms whether she would do him the honour of becoming his wife. Tears blurred her vision and she blurted out a watery, “Of course!” before throwing her arms around his neck and holding tight.

He rose to his feet with his arms wrapped tight around her, and spun them both in a quick circle. He gave a jubilant laugh before setting her down and she felt the cool weight of the ring slide onto her finger. It was a beautiful deep blue sapphire and so breathtakingly beautiful she gasped aloud at the sight of it. His smile was wide enough to crinkle the skin at the corners of his eyes, and she felt her own smile grow to match his.

“You have made me a very happy man,” he admitted as his hands lightly cupped her face. “I am at a loss for words.”

“There is no need for words,” she replied. “I know exactly how you feel.”

He spun her around once more, just to hear her laugh, then kissed her exactly the way she’d dreamt he would – with intent, passion, and a no longer secret undercurrent of desire.


End file.
